


cloudchasers

by natalie_nebula



Series: weekend memories [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can be read on its own, Cute, Drabble, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, sequel to A day in the life of Steve Rogers, soft, weekend memories series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 07:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19970188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalie_nebula/pseuds/natalie_nebula
Summary: Steve could tell by the way Bucky was laying that he was cloud gazing, like they used to do when they were kids, sprawled out on the fire escape together. Steve’s eyelids would start to flutter closed, and he’d let Bucky’s words pass over him like the clouds above them did, being pushed along by the wind to far-off places they could at one point only imagine.Just a short drabble in the "weekend memories" series, set in the same universe as "A day in the life of Steve Rogers" (though this can be read on its own).





	cloudchasers

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short drabble that's a part of my "weekend memories" series, a series of one-shots in the same universe as "A day in the life of Steve Rogers," but you don't need to read that one to understand this. All you need to know is Steve and Bucky are together and that Steve has lost the serum. However if you wanna read it I'm not gonna stop you so go right ahead. All entries in this series can be found above under the "weekend memories" series link. Most of them won't be this short, this is just one I cooked up sitting by the lake today after a quick swim. I'll be posting more soon so be on the lookout. Make sure to leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed <3 thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on twitter @budgetzendaya

“ _Buck!_ Put me _down!_ ” Steve squirmed, throwing a soft punch straight down towards Bucky’s face.

Bucky flinched backward. “Woah there, tiger,” he laughed, shaking Steve back and forth even more. Bucky was lying flat on his back in the grass, and he’d managed to wrangle Steve into his arms, holding him high above him by the armpits and jostling him around, occasionally tossing him in the air and catching him.

Needless to say, Steve was _not_ having it.

“I’m not a _baby_ , asshole,” Steve huffed. The venom in his voice was half-hearted, but still genuine. He tried reaching down to tickle Bucky’s neck, but Bucky only lifted him higher. 

“You’re not _uh_ baby, Stevie, you’re _my_ baby. Mmm— _mwah_.” Bucky threw him slightly and then brought him down close again, making a goofy kissy face and cooing. Steve took his chance to strike, reaching down and getting his fingers right under Bucky’s chin. 

“ _Now_ who’s the baby, you big jerk?” Steve smirked down at him as he continued his merciless tickling spree. 

Bucky _squeaked_ , dropping Steve onto his lap, the two of them erupting into a fit of giggles. “Well now who’s the asshole, bud?” Bucky leaned up and planted a kiss on the end of Steve’s nose. Steve smiled back at him, bringing his arms up and folding them over Bucky’s chest, resting his cheek over Bucky’s heart, listening to his deep, steady breathing as he peered out over Central Park. 

It was a sunny afternoon—late summer in Manhattan—and Bucky had awoken him that morning with a swarm of kisses and the suggestion of a train ride and a picnic in the park. Now they were lying beneath the sunshine, what was left of their sandwiches tucked away in reusable canvas grocery bags strewn about at Bucky’s feet. Steve watched as a group of children ran around in the distance, screaming and laughing as they tumbled barefoot down hills and climbed up rocks, conquering them like they were mountains. For all that had changed over the past hundred years, Steve often found that some things never really did.

As Steve settled deeper into Bucky’s chest, Bucky lifted his metal arm to the dip in Steve’s lower back, rubbing gently up and down against the soft cotton of Steve’s t-shirt while pulling his body closer. His right hand travelled even further up, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair, gently pushing it back from Steve’s face in an almost rhythmic motion, slowly lulling him to sleep—

“Buuuck…” Steve moaned softly, “Stop making me sleepy.” He adjusted his hands and nuzzled deeper towards Bucky’s sternum.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle and continued stroking Steve’s hair. “‘Think it’s the food that’s making you sleepy, bud, or maybe all this sunshine.” He let out a low yawn. “‘Sure got me good…”

Steve mumbled something in response that wasn’t quite real words. The two fell quiet, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the lively park surrounding them, thankfully left alone by the knowing and courteous city dwellers they shared it with.

Steve could tell by the way Bucky was laying that he was cloud gazing, like they used to do when they were kids, sprawled out on the fire escape together. Bucky would point up at the clouds and ask Steve what he saw up there, and Steve would always ask coyly “Why would you wanna know?” And Bucky would always reply in that smug way about him that Steve was an _artist_ and he wanted to see his _artistic vision_. And Steve would laugh and get all warm inside his chest, and the space between their arms and legs on the hot, rusty metal floor would suddenly become noticeable. And he’d tell Bucky to shut the hell up, and he’d respond by going off on some tangent about the castles, and the sea creatures, and the men from mars, and all the other fantastical things he saw up there, in the skies above Brooklyn, pulled from his own mind and from the pages of the pulp sci-fi novels he always had his nose in back then. And Steve’s eyelids would start to flutter closed, and he’d let Bucky’s words pass over him like the clouds above them did, being pushed along by the wind to far-off places they could at one point only imagine. 

Now they were in the present, and they’d seen all those things and more, and even then, Steve still had to ask:

“Whaddya see up there, Buck?”


End file.
